


A Story Told by an Old Man Who Was There

by theparadoxicalfox



Category: Original Work
Genre: Original au, idk what else to put, mention of violence, vague description of wounds, vague sexual implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8593822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theparadoxicalfox/pseuds/theparadoxicalfox
Summary: "You want the story of his arrival?  That’s it?  No, I might as well tell the whole thing. Grab a mug of spiced hotdrink, find a seat, and listen well.  This story isn’t told right anywhere else in these lands, so you’ll likely only hear it once, and it is a long one."





	1. The Story

**Author's Note:**

> first things first: this is a work in progress, and it's going to be one for a long time. right now it's probably as complete as it's going to be for a long time, but i can see myself editing this and adding things now and again! now this is just going to be three chapters: first is the actual story, second is the glossary (very useful, i'd like to think), and third is for everything else that doesn't quite fit. all three are going to be updated in a VERY irregular fashion: there's no schedule for this, and there won't ever be one. the alternate universe in this isn't inspired by anything—it's right out of my brain—so any similarities are pure coincidence c: i hope you people enjoy this!

Yes, I am, indeed, a taleteller. This town’s teller of tales. Why? Do you wish to hear a story from me, an old man who can barely walk on his own two feet? Well, alright then. Tell me. What do you want to hear?

You want the story of his arrival? That’s it? No, I might as well tell the whole thing. Grab a mug of Pari’s spiced hotdrink, find a seat, and listen well. This story isn’t told right anywhere else in these lands, so you’ll likely only hear it once, and it is a long one.

Well now, how shall I begin.

It was in the time of the early Snow Moon. The man was found in the dim light of what amounted to dawn, in front of the town gate. Face down and covered in rime frost everyone thought him to be dead, at first. But this town, as any other, has a fine caste of healers led by a Lady of the Moon, although a different one than now. She brought the stranger in and, with the support of her apprentices, swore to care for him.

They were all shocked and horrified when they lifted the man’s ice-stiffened cloak and revealed his wounds. Arrows had punched holes through the pelt and were imbedded in the man’s back; all of the shafts had snapped off. They couldn’t be traced back to their maker. Many blade wounds striped the man’s deathly pale skin. Livid bruises, the only colour on his body other than the dried blood, were littered across his whole form. Bones were shifting under his skin as they would if shattered. Such wounds would have killed any other man. And, the Lady of the Moon told her students, they may very well kill him soon.

It took all of them, for three days and two nights, to clean, dress and bind every one of his wounds. He had yet to awaken from the deep sleep either his injuries, the cold, or a combination of the two had induced. However, a half-fortnight after they had brought him into their Moon House, the Lady of the Moon emerged and announced the stranger’s health.

She told us his breathing had strengthened greatly. No sickness had taken hold in his lungs, nor found a place in the wounds they still tended. Colour was returning to his strange pale skin, and sometimes he moved in his sleep. These were good signs, she told us. He was going to live.

Many of my village, though, didn’t know if this was good. It wasn’t that we wished him ill will. You see, we hardly ever got strangers in these parts back then. You all know it takes a day to get through the mountain pass, and in the dark moons not even the wild herds of sqarlth dare go through. It is only in the warm and the working moons when there is the usual band of traders who come for our pelts, blankets, and other goods.

It’s not just that this stranger had somehow found his way to our town in one of the darkest moons, nor was it that he looked like the albino twins a town over east, what with his pale skin. No, most of our town was unsure of this man because of his wounds. Where had he received them? Who had inflicted them, and were they going to follow their quarry to our village?

We were a town fortified for the deepest winters, not for the ill deeds of foes. We were a peaceful group—aside from the occasional drunken brawl, of course.

No, we weren’t unsure of this man’s presence. We were afraid of what it meant. It took that half-fortnight and a night more before any of us mustered the courage to lead a party outside of the walls, laden with all the hunting gear we had. And, of course, the chief’s daughter carried the town’s founder blade. For good luck, I suppose; or confidence. You weren’t supposed to wield it without due cause.

Now, I was able to tell you of what occurred during the first care of the stranger because my daughter was one of the Moon Lady’s apprentices. But I’ve only glimpses of what happened during the search, as I had stayed behind with my bond mate. Mika had caught a bit of a cold.

Not much, is what happened. They managed to bring a wild sqarl back for the stewpot, so it wasn’t for nothing. But everyone had waited too long. The bitter winds had swept all the tracks away, and covered the bloodstains we were sure the stranger had trailed behind him. One thing to be sure, though; no one had followed him. We knew these hills, these snow-covered slopes and needled tree forests. There were no more strangers lurking about.

He finally awoke on the night of the early Melt Moon. My daughter was the one tending him, so know what I tell you is true.

It was late at night; the fires had been banked long ago, and only the faintest glow could be seen. My daughter—Maise, her name is—told me this hardly seemed to stop him; nor did the weakness in his muscles, because surely he must have felt like a new-born babe after having slept for a moon and a half.

But, no. He stood up from his bed, gathering a pelt around him. My Maise was half-asleep; no one can blame her. Who would have thought he would wake up? But she watched, like in a dream, watched him walk right out of his room and heard the door leading into the night close behind him.

That woke her up, now. She roused the whole House and they all tumbled outside, hurriedly done up in their furs. It was a clear night; frigid. The moon was a slip in the sky. They had to bring out the lanterns to follow the man’s footprints.

They found him at the base of the moonleaf tree, at the back end of our little town. How he’d managed to get there without tripping in the icy snow, or stopping because of the cold, or collapsing from exhaustion, even, is still beyond all of us.

As they watched, though—and listen close, because here is an interesting little part coming up—as they watched, he knelt at the base of our ancient old moonleaf tree, then began speaking in a tongue no one knew. Not even the Lady of the Moon herself. Well, she had an idea, that it was an old tongue the first Tribes used, and he never did say anything to confirm or deny it. How he would know such an old tongue, we don’t know. It is the Ladies of the Moon and Children of the Stars who harbour the spoken and written words of the ages, but he had none of their markings on him.

After they had all stood there long enough to turn their ears dark and cold Maise and a companion went forwards. Quietly, of course, because underneath the boughs of the great moonleaf tree you step on sacred ground. The two of them both swear—hush, now! This is a good part. I’ll not have you talking over me, not any of you.

Good.

Now, where was I?

Yes, of course. Thank you, dear.

They both swear, even now, that the man—while he was touching the thickened, age-scarred bark of our great tree—that his skin was lit up, dappled like the spots of a water-paight during the Harvest Moon, and his eyes were just as bright as though they had trapped pieces of the moon herself.

Now, I know what you’re all thinking, that this sounds like what the Moon Ladies go through every Blooming Moon. But remember, this was in Melting Moon—not to mention he was a male.

Then comes the question: is he a Lord of the Moon?

Yes, exactly. You’re right: there hasn’t been one since the Great Tribe Wars, when the last Moon Lord condemned half of our kind to their deaths. We didn’t ever want to see a male with such power as a Moon Lady possesses, not ever again. The stories I know, of what our Tribes did to any male who showed some gift, even if they would become nought more than forever a Son of the Stars—not that it is a low title, many are quite goodhearted and strong people… well, perhaps some of you are too young to hear those stories.

What did he look like? Well, let me see now. I’ll try to remember how my Maise described him; she did it rather poetically. She has a way with words, you know; as is befitting of her trade, as a Lady of the Moon.

No, no. I’m afraid I can’t remember my daughter’s beautiful words. Perhaps you could ask her when she gets back. But either way, I’ll just tell you how I remember it. Ah, yes. Pale skin, with only his scars marking it. That’s right, no visible patterns to speak of! His eyes were a peculiar mix of grey and green, and his hair was dark, and long, and always done up in thin braids. He was built like a hunter: lean and powerful.

Yes, yes. Giggle away. The young people back then were like that too: blushing and whispering as he passed them by. He was beautiful, even with his unnaturally pale skin—or perhaps, because of it. I remember seeing him for the first time… but that’s neither here nor there. No, you need to hear the rest of his story. Like I said, there’s no other place you’ll find it true, so sit tight and listen, all of you.

He woke up the next day, and the day after that. No longer was he trapped in a sleep that lasted the cycle of a moon. He hadn’t spoken a word since that first night, and it was days before he spoke again. Clearly he had only the barest grasp of our tongue; he hardly knew enough to ask for water, or food. The only tongues he knew, it seemed, were those from the south: the Tribes who worshipped their Mother Sun, and those who worshiped the Earth as a giver and taker of life. Yes, I’m sure it must sound strange to you, but I’m sure our worshipping of the Great Lady Moon must be quite peculiar to them, too.

Well, yes, our Moon Lady back then did know many tongues from the south. Perhaps not so far south as the Icelands, but certainly the tongues from the hot lands of plenty. It was her duty to know them and pass them on. Sadly, she had fallen out of practice, and even then was a bit old and forgetful. A few of the apprentices under her had been practicing, though, and I believe that’s how he learned our tongue so quickly.

Yes, he could speak a full sentence by the time of the early Blooming Moon, and he was able to understand much more. I remember seeing him sitting at the front of the Moon House, just listening to the conversations around him.

I believe the Blooming Moon was a hard time for him, likely because of the Ceremony. Wherever he came from they must have similar enough customs to give him home-longing—or perhaps he saw all these people finding love and comfort with others, and he felt even more alone.

Did he take part in the Blooming Ceremony? I’m sure many wanted him to, and certainly there were a few more children born the next year with very strong gifts. You young people. So focused on that. Now quit giggling and let me get on!

The Milking Moon, however, everyone could tell he enjoyed. He had a touch with the animals; the mothers especially. He helped deliver every single one of the skarlsith; and even the twins, who we were sure wouldn’t survive the ordeal, were on their spindly little legs within the day. Not one of the mothers nor one of their children died that moon.

Yes, he did find a wild sqarlsi, and it did follow him everywhere, but it wasn’t white as all the other taletellers insist. I suppose it lends a sort of mysticism to it all, though, doesn’t it? But everyone who’s seen a wild sqarl knows they’re only white during the dark moons.

No, the young thing was just as grey and brown as the rest, even if it was big for a wild one. We found the body of the mother some time later, eaten by one of the large predators that roam these places. Bit of a miracle the man had found the little thing; or it had found the man.

By the time Berry Moon came around we all knew the man. We couldn’t ever quite pronounce his name—certainly not without him laughing at our attempts—so we called him Bhtihltoh, which made him a little annoyed, I must admit, because he couldn’t quite pronounce that name himself, and so he insisted on being called Tihl.

That’s right: Bhtihltoh. Not the most original name now, is it. Snow Male. It sounds even more casual in this tongue. But it caught on, and it was better than calling him Kosaafh—stranger. He didn’t mind, because he wasn’t learning this old tongue of ours, but we felt impolite, especially as he became less and less of a stranger with every mooncycle.

Yes, by his fifth moon here he could speak the Northern tongue as well as the rest of us, even though some of the sounds of his other tongues still clung on grimly. He even learned our old names for the animals and plants: the sqarlth, of course; the different types of paighth as well, the names of all the predators that can kill any one of us with a single fell swoop, and the names of the medicinal plants that grow wild in every moon—their uses included.

And he learned our traditions, our religion. While he never seemed to practice his own, he certainly held respect for ours.

Tihl also learned our old ways of combat. How to fight when the snow is waist-deep, how to live in the wilderness while you wait for your enemies to freeze to death. He, in return, taught anyone who was curious his own ways of fighting, although the group certainly grew much shorter after they first saw him train by himself.

Yes, he would train every morning, in the courtyard in front of the moonleaf tree. He had fashioned a staff out of hardwood, and would go through hundreds of forms every day. Our bow maker and fletcher even made him his own bow and quiver of arrows, and whenever he joined a hunting party they were sure to come back with something. When he was in our town, we hardly wanted for fresh game.

It was in the turn of the Red Moon when the trader’s caravans arrived in our village. We could instantly tell Tihl was wary of them; he avoided the market they set up, and didn’t come to the communal dinners. It was a good quarter moon before he introduced himself to any of their company.

The traders were first surprised to see, as they said, a man from the ancient Tribe of the world tree. This, of course, didn’t mean much to us at the time. We hadn’t even heard of the lore and tales of that once-great and widespread Tribe.

Rather than dismissing the traders’ claims, however, as another might do, he smiled and bowed and greeted them—rather formally, I think—in another tongue, to which a few of the traders grinned upon hearing and promptly led Tihl away for some lively discussion.

No, I don’t know what they talked about. You don’t go about asking people those things. You have to keep in mind, he was never quite so special to us then as he is now.

Yes, dear, be patient. I will get to that part of his story soon enough.

The traders stayed for three moons. They always left before the turn of the Pelt Moon, lest an early storm come and trap them in our valley. With Tihl hunting alongside us we had plenty of meat to salt and sell, and a surplus of pelts the traders were only too glad to barter for. They rode away from our village with heavy wagons.

Then, when the Long Moon was young and early snows dusted the frozen earth, Maise heard him discuss with the Moon Lady about his departure. See, he felt as though he’d overstayed his welcome. It was only two more mooncycles before the date of his arrival gained a full cycle, and he didn’t want to remain much longer. It was clear he had wanderlust in his bones again.

We tried to convince him to stay a while longer, at least for the Celebration of the Moon. It was, after all, only half a moon cycle away; surely he could wait. But no matter how many people tried to convince him, no matter what we all said, he always answered with a smile, and a shake of the head, and an apology.

He wasn’t going to stay any longer. And I must admit, we weren’t quite so sad about the news as I suspect we should have been. You see, we had grown to take Tihl for granted—his skills in hunting, which guaranteed a full stew pot; his gentle laugh as he listened to the elders and children talk, and his solid, peaceful presence that somehow made the Moon House, normally devoid of males, a slightly livelier yet calmer place.

But we had known from the beginning: he would leave us. He would leave in the snow, just as he came in the snow. That, too, we had taken for granted; that, too, we accepted as it came.

So while it may be nice to tell of the heartbreak the whole village endured as his day of departure neared, the closer truth is that we began talking about him as though he had already left, days before he went through our gate for what we thought would be his last time.

Yes, what we thought. I’m sure those words must come as a surprise—hush! Be quiet, now! There are some here, sitting much quieter than you, to whom this is their first telling of this tale. I’ll not be having any one of you spoil it for them.

Perhaps it was good I was interrupted, though. Not that a single one of you should do it again, but it has reminded me that not all of you know the tales of the Snow Riders. The eliffamth haabhtihl. There is one, in particular, I will tell you now. It is of our Knight, this village’s Founder, and her first encounter with the Snow Riders.

She travelled with only her family now, for the rest of her company had all laid claim to easier lands. They did not wish to brave the mountain pass, as rumours told it was full of vicious beasts that could devour a person whole and kill a steed in a matter of seconds. But our Founder was brave! She ventured forth, and though her hand was ready at her hilt, not one of the beasts ever showed their hide.

She reached the end of the pass, the first Knight to ever do so unscathed. And even though it was nearing the end of the Long Moon, only frosts had come. No snow hid our valley from her. She laid claim to this land, to its soils and streams and power. Then she set to building her home, with her family lending their aid.

Not two days after it was complete, with firewood stacked and larder half-full, did one of the winter storms we now know so well come sweeping in to this valley. While the rest of her family was in the house, she was out hunting for winter game.

She did not return for three days and three nights. Her family was fearing for the worst. They knew that without her connection to this land—as every Knight did form a deep and powerful connection, one that lived on through their blade—they would be cut off from any protection the land may grant them, and die in the dark moons.

But she returned. She returned on the fourth day, when the storm began to lose its power. She returned with a tale to tell; a tale of the Snow Riders.

She had seen them in the storm. Riding huge white beasts, whose very eyes glinted with cold cunning, they were awful in their splendour. Clad in pale armour and brandishing longbows and blades, they looked far more knightly than any Knight she had ever known. They appeared before her, moments after the blizzard had obscured her vision, and surrounded her. She had drawn her blade then, calling upon the power of the land to protect her, calling upon this power she had only met half a moon ago, calling upon this power and not expecting it to answer.

But answer it did, and as she felt it rushing up to greet her the great white warriors of the storm put up their weapons and rode off. With barely enough time to thank the land, she collapsed, and to this very day no one has ever known how she came to wake up days later, only steps from her new home.

So that is the first tale I have of the Snow Riders. There are many more: of them appearing to those of the Moon when they needed aid, of them rushing a winter hunting party and leaving all but those with the gift lying in their own blood. No one knows who they are. No one knows what they are. But we all knew they existed then, even as less and less came back every winter with tales to tell—it was, after all, only because more were left dead.

I can see some of you thinking. Stop that, and instead listen close.

Tihl left six days before the Celebration of the Moon. The sky was clear, with feather-light wisps of clouds, and everyone knew that meant a storm was on the way. We warned him, but he insisted on leaving. The wanderlust was too strong.

Not even hours later the sky had filled with storm clouds, and suddenly we were all filled with a certain and powerful dread. Every single person in this village knew, with absolute certainty, that the riders of the snow would be coming for Bhtihltoh. They would find him, and sweep up to him in the bitter, swift winds of the oncoming blizzard, and take his life.

We came together with our hunting knives, with our arrows and our spears. Bundled in our furs we left the village in the care of a dozen able bodies and the expecting mothers and the elders and the children, and followed Tihl’s prints.

It took us far too long, we feared, to reach him. But reach him we did, as in the white haze of snowdrifts swept up in the wind his dark form appeared in front of us—his dark form, interrupted with the slim shafts of arrows, the snow beneath him dark with his blood. Around him the wind blew, and it blew with a deadly fierceness.

For in front of our stranger stood the eliffamth haabhtihl. There were twelve, astride on their great white beasts, arrows nocked and trained on Tihl.

Our Tihl, with his hands held empty in front of him. He was talking to them. Pleading with them, we came to realize as we listened. He was pleading not for his life, but for ours.

Why take their lives? he asked of them, Why take lives at all? It is your task to keep the balance, and you have the power granted by the Creator to do so without such needless death.

Then came the first time any of us heard one speak. Their voice was the storm itself: powerful and huge, a deep roar cut by the harsh whistle of the coldest winds. And they replied, this impossible voice full of scorn, We have every right. They come with their tainted blood and their starved gifts, they come and they suck the life out of the land. They always take, and never give back. Only those with their strange, foreign power do anything to interrupt this pattern of theirs. But they never do enough. They only do as much as they must. Their tainted blood is invading their lines, and soon they will be yet another blight in this land. We must cull what we can, or else kill off the whole herd.

Somehow, Tihl answered them in a voice just as powerful, just as awful as theirs. Have you grown weak, then, as well? Or have you grown afraid? Do you not remember how to grant them the gift? My people are gone now. We can no longer give all the people of all the lands the connection they need. And you! You are hunting me down like an animal, like nothing more than a bothersome rat who nibbles away. I have just as much of a right to the power of this land as you do. I have just as much right to give these people their link.

They are all a disease! Another roared, and the wind howled with them. And you do nothing but eat with them and bed with them. They can barely hold on to what gifts they are given through their parents, so what is the use of adding your blood to their veins? They all let this priceless connection slip through their fingers, as though it was nothing more than a handful of water. And what connections they do manage are weak—not one of them has talked to the land since their Knight’s grand-daughter pleaded for her child’s health.

Then teach them, Tihl’s voice was a dangerous rumble, an old sound full of threat. Teach them your ways. And respect theirs, for haven’t you made that mistake often enough? Find it within yourselves to grant them even a sliver of the gift you all can give. If you truly are afraid of what they can do giftless, then you should only want to see them with power, with understanding.

We stood there and shuddered. Powerful words were being said, words we were afraid to recognize, afraid to acknowledge.

The storm bore down on us all as we waited. Then, just as our ears had filled entirely with the whistling of the gale, one of the snow riders spoke.

We cannot promise you anything. Their voice was resentful, disliking every word they had to offer. We cannot promise them anything. They all cast their gazes towards our group, and we were pinned under the weight. But we will consider what you have said.

A fourth spoke up. Traveller, they said, while we will not seek any forgiveness for the deaths we have caused these people, nor will we apologize for the wounds we gave you, we are bound by the honour held between your people and mine to take what you have said, and examine it. Perhaps… perhaps by the next cycle we will have found our decision. Until then, and they all raised their bows, training them solidly on Tihl, we want you off of our land, and off of the neighbouring lands. We want you far from this place,- and here the snow rider called Bhtihltoh a name that was as old as the air it came on.

Tihl held his hands in an exact fashion, and bowed his head. The eliffamth haabhtihl nodded in reply. Then, as one, they turned their steeds and vanished into the storm.

Tihl collapsed there in the bloody snow. We carried him back to our village after those of the Moon who had come with us padded his wounds.

It turned out that he did stay for the Celebration of the Moon. Luckily his second stay in the Moon House’s sick room wasn’t as long as his first; he’d awoken from his sleep once we all returned, and healed quickly from then on. The three arrow wounds he’d received had been ill-placed and it was yet another wonder he hadn’t died on the way back, but we’d come to accept that he wasn’t quite so hard to kill as he should be.

He left before any of his children were born—for it was clear to us, then, that many of the children were his; it was even more evident once those children were born with the strongest gifts we had seen in generations.

The best hunters in our village had learned from Tihl, and now it was rare for the stewpot to be empty. Our herd of sqarlth was prospering, although the young large one that Tihl had found disappeared the same day Tihl left for good. Yes, perhaps it did follow him. They are clever beasts, there is no doubting that.

And, as I’m sure is clear now, we did learn from what Bhtihltoh and the eliffamth haabhtihl had to say about us. It was a huge struggle, at first, for those of the Moon to learn how to connect with this power in the land—but then they discovered its rhythms linked with the Great Lady Moon, and I think that is what truly connected our people to this land.

No, we have not seen the eliffamth haabhtihl, not since that day. Perhaps one dark moon, they will arrive. We can only hope it will be with their knowledge, and not their weapons.

Of course. That is exactly true. Tihl did save us, in many ways. And learning who he was, and what he was, as the cycles went on… every so often I am surprised with a new tale. Yes, even now.

So, how did everyone do? Have any of you fallen asleep? No? Well, I suppose I still can tell a good tale, then. Go find some sweetbreads, you all deserve one for being so quiet. Yes, I know, all of you. Except for you. Bring me back a mug of spiced hotdrink, then you can get yourself a sweetbread.


	2. Glossary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i hope this clears some things up c: it's still being added to and updated. sorted alphabetically.

**Berry Moon** : The first of the warm moons, can be related to June, named after the ripening of many types of berries.

 **Bhtihltoh** : (b•TIL•tow). A name given to the stranger, directly translates from the tribe’s old tongue to Northern tongue as ‘snow male’, in reference to his pale skin, how he arrived in the snow, and his gender. ‘Bhtihl’ is white/snow/blank, and ‘toh’ denotes a masculine aspect. 

**Blooming Moon** : The second of the new moons, can be related to April, named after the blooming of many flowers, especially the first flush of the moonleaf tree.

 **Blooming Moon festival** : This festival lasts three days and takes place centred around the height of the Blooming Moon, when the first flush on the moonleaf tree is at its peak. It partly arose out of necessity, when the global population was driven nearly to extinction, and the percentage of people with gifts was very low. Every willing adult individual drinks only a beverage of moonleaf blooms steeped in hot water during the celebration, and this results in old pairings and groupings of lovers to reunite, and new ones involving the youngest generation to form. At the peak of the full Blooming Moon every Lady of the Moon—no matter her rank, be it senior or starting-apprentice—approaches the community’s moonleaf tree and offers prayers for a healthy, fruitful year. Occasionally this will involve, later, the impregnation of the younger, fertile Ladies of the Moon, in hopes of producing daughters with strong gifts.

 **bond mate** : An old term that was translated from the old Tribe tongues into the Northern tongue. Two or more individuals are considered bond mates when, under the eyes of a Moon Lady and the watchful gaze of the Great Lady Moon, they bind themselves by oath to love and care for one another. This is a ceremony most often used to tie lovers together, but can be a sign for a great friendship or otherwise strong and meaningful relationship.

 **Celebration of the Moon** : This celebration takes place at height of the Long Moon. Food is made and shared by the whole community, and many activities such as tale telling, gift-giving and dancing lasts the whole day. At the peak of the full Long Moon a sacrifice of ceremonial gifts are offered to the Great Lady Moon for her protection and good will for the following cycle.

 **Child of the Stars** : An individual who has a lesser degree of power in comparison to one of the Moon. Their power is not linked to the waxing and waning of the moon, and stays level at all times, never exceeding the lowest power level one of the Moon holds. Often serves as a more direct link between the community and one of the Moon, especially in larger communities. Tasked with learning written and spoken tongues from their Lady of the Moon and memorizing the history of their community, tribe, and land.

 **Cold Moon** : The second of the dark moons, can be related to January, named after its cold weather.

 **cycle** : The duration of time from one moon (or a day in that moon) to the same moon (or day) a cycle later. For example, a child’s birth in the Berry moon would be celebrated a cycle later, in the following Berry Moon, and that child would then be a cycle old. A moon cycle can be related to a year. There is no clear distinction between different cycles, however, other than through counting (unlike numbered, distinct years that begin on January 1st and end on December 31st in the Gregorian calendar).

 **dark moon(s)** : Can refer to the Long, Cold, and/or Snow Moon, or to the seasonal climate that all three moons span (winter).

 **Daughter of the Stars** : See Child of the Stars.

 **eliffamth haabhtihl** : (elih•FAUTH HA•b•TIL) Pale-armoured, sword-wielding, possibly immortal beings that ride on giant white steeds and appear with the first winter storm, leaving when the snow melts. Also said to never miss with an arrow. Directly translates from the tribe’s old tongue to Northern tongue as ‘riders of the snow’. It is unknown if they are ultimately good or evil, if they are under the command of anyone or thing, and why they kill those with little to no gift. 

**founder blade** : Every town was founded by a Knight (need def? would like to know? pls, feedback) of the Moon. They ceremoniously lay claim to their own land by staking it with their blade, then building structures around it. Each town’s founder blade rests in the Hall, above the main fireplace, and can be removed for many occasions, primarily celebrations and festivals.

 **Great Lady Moon** :

 **Great Tribe Wars** :

 **Harvest Moon** : The first of the working moons, can be related to September, named after the ripening and harvesting of many domesticated grains, tubers and vegetables.

 **home-longing** : Homesickness.

 **Hunting Moon** : The second of the working moons, can be related to October, named after the hunting of many wild animals for winter store and pelts.

 **Icelands** : The lands around the southern pole.

 **Kosaafh** : (ko•SAF•uh). A name given to the stranger, directly translates to ‘stranger’.

 **Knight of the Moon** :

 **Lady of the Moon** : An individual (usually female) who shows great gifts for healing, learning, teaching, and governing. A Moon Lady is held as the spiritual leader of a community. Connected deeply to the ways of the moon and patterns of life that dictate and regulate the extent of their power.

 **Long Moon** : The first of the dark moons, can be related to December, named after its long nights.

 **Lord of the Moon** : An individual (usually male) with similar powers to a Moon Lady, but is not as attuned to the ways of the moon and patterns of life that dictate and regulate the extent of their power. Instead, a Moon Lord’s power waxes and wanes in response to the seasons, with the height being in the middle of the warm moons. A Moon Lord and his followers ultimately brought about the Great Tribe War (< need def?), and ever since, no Moon Lord has ever survived past childhood for fear of recurring tragedies.

 **Melting Moon** : The first of the new moons, can be related to March, named after the occurrence of melting snow packs.

 **Milking Moon** : The third of the new moons, can be related to May, named after the increase in milk production from the domesticated sqarlt due to their young being born in this moon. Many other animal young are born, too.

 **moon** : One month (approx.).

 **mooncycle** : the duration of time from one moon to the next. For example, from a half Blooming Moon to a half Milking Moon is one mooncycle. Not to be confused with a cycle.

 **of the Moon** : Denoting the individual’s involvement and dedication to a religion that worships the Great Lady Moon (< need def?).  
one of the Moon: Any individual whose power grants the title ‘of the Moon’. The majority go by ‘Lady of the Moon’, but occasionally an individual prefers their name to be part of the title (Name of the Moon) or to be known as, simply, one of the Moon. More often than not these particular individuals are not female in gender, nor are they male, so the fear that follows Lords of the Moon never falls to them.

 **Moon House** : The Lady of the Moon lives here with her pupils: all Children of the Stars and ones of the Moon. A place of physical and spiritual healing; a refuge.

 **Moon Lady** : See Lady of the Moon.

 **moonleaf tree** : A hardy tree that can grow to be centuries old. Distinguishing characteristics include small, disk-shaped silvery leaves, silvery-green buds in the new moons, and two flushes of blooms: tiny white ten-petaled blooms in the Blooming Moon, and few large, five-petalled red blooms in the Red Moon. The fruit from the first flush is harvested for its opioid qualities. The second flush’s fruit is poisonous to most organisms. This tree is sacred to those who worship the Great Lady Moon.

 **Moon Lord** : See Lord of the Moon.

 **Mother Sun** :

 **needled tree** : Evergreen tree.

 **new moon(s)** : Can refer to the Melting, Blooming, and/or Milking Moon, or to the seasonal climate that all three moons span (spring).

 **Northlands** : The lands around the northern pole. The story is based in a small village of a Northern Tribe—one of many that live in the Northlands.

 **paight** : (PITE, PIETH). A snake-like multi-limbed creature that can be found in many habitats. Develops bioluminescent markings during its mating season. Plural is paighth.

 **Pelt Moon** : The third of the working moons, can be related to November, named after the capturing of heavily-pelted animals for their fur and rich meat.

 **Red Moon** : The third of the warm moons, can be related to August, named after the characteristic appearance of the moon at this time, as well as the colour of the moonleaf’s second flush.

 **Snow Moon** : The third of the dark moons, can be related to February, named after its deep snows.

 **Son of the Stars** : See Child of the Stars.

 **spiced hotdrink** : A hot beverage similar to spiced apple cider; served in cold weather and made with dried sweetberries.

 **sqarl** : (SKARL, SKARL•a, SKAR•tcha, SKARTH). Heavily furred, deer-like mammals that live in the northern lands, adapted for cold, mountainous climates. Sqarla are those who bear offspring in their wombs, and sqarlqa are those who are male during the Blooming Moon. Plural is sqarlth.

 **sqarlsi** : (skar•SEE, skar•SEETH) The young of the sqarl. Plural is sqarlsith.

 **Storm Moon** : The second of the warm moons, can be related to July, named after the frequent storms of this moon.

 **taleteller** : Storyteller. Most often one of the Moon or a Child of the Stars, but occasionally a normal individual has a gift for telling tales, in which case they are known, unofficially, as the community’s taleteller.

 **warm moon(s)** : Can refer to the Berry, Storm, and/or Red Moon, or to the seasonal climate that all three moons span (summer).

 **water-paight** : (WA•ter•pite, WA•ter•pieth). An amphibious, many-limbed, snake-like creature that develops bioluminescent markings during its mating season. Plural is water-paighth. 

**working moon(s)** : Can refer to the Harvest, Hunting, and/or Pelt Moon, or to the seasonal climate that all three moons span (autumn).


	3. Other Stuff :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> other stuff is here. generally miscellaneous info. have fun.

The moons in relation to our months.

 **The Dark Moons** :  
Long Moon (December)  
Cold Moon (January)  
Snow Moon (February)

 **The New Moons** :  
Melting Moon (March)  
Blooming Moon (April)  
Milking Moon (May)

 **The Warm Moons** :  
Berry Moon (June)  
Storm Moon (July)  
Red Moon (August)

 **The Working Moons** :  
Harvest Moon (September)  
Hunting Moon (October)  
Pelt Moon (November)

 **Creating the name for the snow riders** :

to ride effam (eh•FAUM)

rider eliffam (elih•FAUM)

riders eliffamth (elih•FAUTH)  
[add pl ending th]

snow riders  
[add snow: btihl] eliffamth haabhtihl  
riders of the snow

 **Notes** :

two A (aa) is ah sound [mad]  
one A (a) is au sound [hall]  
our suffix of ‘er’ (for rider, keeper, helper etc. not louder, faster etc.) is a prefix of ‘li’  
if a vowel sound is at the beginning then the first letter precedes the new prefix  
our suffix of ’s’ (making plural) is a suffix of ‘th’  
if there is a consonant sound at the end (exceptions apply) it is replaced by the ‘th’  
if the sound is a vowel, no replacement sound occurs, it simply happens after  
no matter if there is sound replacement, the whole original singular word is written,  
with the pluralizing suffix added to the end  
for the most part the language is formal: rather than snow riders, it is riders of the snow.  
‘of’ is a prefix of ‘haa’ and is added on to the beginning of the possessive word

**Author's Note:**

> if anything is confusing or hard to understand, or if you have questions about this story and/or au and/or anything else, don't shy away from leaving a comment! if you have any criticism, or anything, i love reading that in the comments too :D feedback helps me out a bunch. and as always, thank you so much for reading, and i appreciate and love every single kudo i get c:


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